


Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Tapestry

by noxfelicis



Category: Dialogues - Plato, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, crack fic if you squint, harry potter meets socratic dialogue, or a reflection on the role of authority in popular modern lit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24786436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxfelicis/pseuds/noxfelicis
Summary: On an unspecified day in Harry's 6th year, he and Hermione encounter the portrait of the gadfly of Athens, Socrates himself. Discussion ensues.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Kudos: 3





	Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Tapestry

Harry was quite looking forward to a relaxing Tuesday afternoon in the Griffindor Common Room. He had, in a burst of productivity brought on by Hermione's nagging, finished his homework for the next day, including an essay for Charms that even went a little bit over the assigned minimum of three feet of parchment. Quidditch practice wasn't until Thursday, when it would presumably be less wet and windy outside. But for now, the nasty weather made it that much pleasanter inside, where Harry was sitting by the roaring Common Room fire, along with the other Griffindor sixth-years. He and Ron had started up yet another game of wizard's chess, and the blissful feeling of having next to nothing that had to be done right that moment almost made up for him losing the past three games.

It was at that moment that Hermione came clambering through the portrait hole, almost shouting, “Harry! Ron! Come and see!”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. “What is it?” said Harry cautiously.

She was at his side now, tugging at his arm. “Oh, just come on. You've got to see for yourself.”

“We're _busy_ , Hermione,” Ron protested. “I was just about to use the Queen's Gambit, and –”

“Never mind that; this is much more important. Come on.”

Harry shrugged and got up. “Sorry, Ron. We may as well go and see.”

“You may as well. Dean, you want to play a round of chess, or maybe Gobstones?”

Hermione practically dragged Harry out of the Common Room, into the hallway, up and down several flights of steps, through corridors lit only by torchlight, past various classrooms from which he could hear the dull murmur of students and professors. “Um, Hermione?”

“Just a little further, I promise.”

They turned one more corner and stopped. “There, you see him?”

Harry looked where she was pointing and saw a typical wizard painting, in this case populated by small, squawking monks. He snuck a questioning glance back at Hermione, but she merely jerked her head towards the painting again. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized that the majority of the monks had gathered at the far right edge of the painting, while the remaining four were attempting to shove a fifth figure out the left side. This last character looked quite out of place. Not only was he dressed in what seemed to be a toga or tunic of sorts, but he seemed to be more woven than painted. As Harry and Hermione watched, the monks succeeded and the strange figure tumbled into an adjacent painting, this one a still life. Now larger in proportion to the painting, the figure got to his feet, brushed off his tunic, and addressed Harry and Hermione.

“Good afternoon, my young friends. My name is Socrates of Athens. And who might you be?”

“I'm Harry, Harry Potter.”

“I'm Hermione Granger. Oh, I've read so much about you. I just can't begin to say what an honor it is to speak with you, or rather, your portrait.”

“Oh no, the honor is all mine, Miss Granger, for the chance to speak with two young students does not happen every day. Indeed, they keep my tapestry hidden away in an unused classroom, and it is all I can do to slip away once in a very long while.”

“That's horrible,” Hermione exclaimed. “All students should have the chance to talk to you. Just think of the educational and philosophical benefits. We haven't really studied much philosophy here at Hogwarts.”

“'Tis a sad state indeed, Miss Granger. But what about you, Mr. Potter? What do you think?”

Harry shrugged. “I don't really know who would take a philosophy class other than Hermione and some of the Ravenclaws.” A thought occurred to him. “Who keeps you hidden away, Socrates?”

“Usually the current Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore only differs from his predecessors in that he occasionally will stop by for a chat.”

Hermione frowned. “If it's Dumbledore, he must have a good reason though.”

“Must he, Miss Granger?”

“Of course. If he were unreasonable, he wouldn't be Headmaster.”

“True, the Headmaster, or any authority for that matter, ought to be reasonable,” Socrates mused. “But often 'ought' does not mean 'is.'”

“I'll admit that,” Hermione said. “But Dumbledore is reasonable and wise, and he always does what's best for Hogwarts.”

“Ah, I see you have a prefect's badge. I take it you always follow all the rules, as best you can?”

“Well of course I—”

“No, you don't,” put in Harry. “Remember when you made Polyjuice Potion? Or when you helped free a man the Ministry regarded as a mass murderer? How about when you blackmailed a reporter? Or even that time you punched Draco? Not that I'm criticizing you – he deserved it – but that's technically against school rules.” Harry paused for a second. “Y'know, now that I think about it, you know more about the rules than me or Ron, but that doesn't stop you from bending them every once in a while.”

“But Harry, each of those was for a really good reason. Anyone with half a brain could see that.”

Socrates coughed delicately. “It seems to me, Miss Granger, that you only respect authority when it is line with your personal moral code. That said code usually means that you follow authorities meekly, but only to a point. Why is that?”

Hermione was blushing by now. “Assuming that is the case, I would say that when someone in charge requires me to act wrongly, that someone loses the right to tell me what to do in that situation. Depending on the person and the situation, my trust and obedience can be regained, but it takes time. Up until last year, I assumed the Ministry was basically good, or at least well-intentioned, but I've learned otherwise. As such, I would have no qualms with acting when I see injustice, despite what so-called authorities say.”

“Do you agree that all people make bad decisions, or at least mistakes?”

“Yes.”

“Then why obey authorities when you know they will fail in one way or another?”

“Because there would be chaos otherwise. If students didn't listen to their professor, class would consist of far too much talking and very little learning. And if everyone disobeyed the Ministry's laws for no good reason, it'd be just as bad as the country obeying a corrupt Ministy, or worse.”

“So, obedience is good because there's less trouble that way?”

“To some extent, yes, and also because it's the right thing to do.”

“When exactly does it become the wrong thing to do?”

“When the authorities are wrong.”

“How do you measure that?”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated. “When it goes against your conscience?”

“How do you know this conscience of yours is right?”

“I – I don't, I suppose. That's why I make bad decisions sometimes. But most of the time, when I listen to it, it's right.”

“I'm sorry, I find myself to be a bit confused. I was under the impression that your conscience was your internal standard for morality, but now you speak of measuring it against something else. Is that something else also internal?”

“Maybe? Or maybe it's because of how my parents brought me up?”

“Then would someone with immoral parents lack this standard?”

Hermione looked at Harry, and after a moment, so did Socrates. Harry thought for a moment and gave it his best shot. “I know why you're asking me this – it's because the Dursleys raised me, if that's even the right name for it. You would think that being locked away under the stairs for half my childhood would affect my sense of morality, and maybe it did. Maybe I'm less trusting of authority because my aunt and uncle gave me no reason to respect them. I'm pretty sure I only obeyed them before coming here because they were stronger than me. But they never forced me to do wrong things. I mean, they made me do a lot of the cooking and the cleaning, which wasn't evil, just unfair. Honestly, I'm not sure where my 'sense of morality' came from, but I did learn that I didn't want to be like the Dursleys – unjust, cruel, only nice for the sake of appearances, and so on. Maybe if they'd isolated me completely I wouldn't have learned, but at primary school I could see other parents and I realized how messed up my relatives were. So maybe that's why I'm so determined to stop Voldemort, because he's like them but worse. That's usually what motivates me to disobey authority, now that I think about it, but thanks to the Dursleys I tend to hesitate a lot less than Hermione does.”

Socrates stroked his beard absent-mindedly. “Intriguing. But then, women are, in general, weaker-willed creatures than men, so I suppose I should not be surprised.”

Harry braced himself for Hermione's outburst.

“What? How does that even make sense? How can you dismiss just about half of all people because of something out of their control? You may as well say Muggles are stupider than wizards because they don't have magic, and we all know that's—”

“Aren't they?”

Hermione's protests were quickly becoming inarticulate. To Harry's great relief, Professor McGonagall rounded the corner. “Ah, just as I expected. It's a good thing one of the monks decided to warn me. Up to your old tricks, Socrates?”

Harry was not surprised to see Socrates look abashed. After all, he had seen far more powerful wizards quelled by her stern glare, and Socrates was merely part of a painting.

“Miss Granger, calm yourself. I'm afraid you have been sadly misled by this representation of a great wizard. While this portrait is very similar to the real Socrates, as far we know that is, he has picked a few uncharitable views from certain Headmasters past. As such, we are forced to keep him bound to his tapestry with the Hem-Locking Spell, though it wears thin every few years and he gets out. I am so sorry you had to deal with him.”

“It's fine, Professor,” said Harry. “Really. He's actually given me a few things to think about.”

“Is that so, Mr. Potter? Well then, I'll just deal with Socrates here, and you two can get back to the Common Room. That or the Great Hall – it's nearly dinner time.”

Harry and Hermione headed off.

“Harry, do you think he had a point about–”

“Don't. I'm filing this away in my mind under crazy wizard stuff, right up there with playing Quodpot and charming a teakettle to sing.”

“Oh Harry, don't be silly. It's only American wizards who play Quodpot.”


End file.
